All That Remains
by operaghost517
Summary: Peeta's side of the story in Mockingjay as he is taken from everything he knows, and everything he loves is manipulated in the worst sense. Third companion after Nine Lives of Peeta Mellark and Thirteen Reasons Why
1. Author's Note

_A quick intro..._

**This will be the only AN in the entire story!**_  
_

I have decided that given the nature of _Mockingjay _I don't want to interrupt it with personal messages or anything. So anything important I will either say right now or update on my profile page.

I am very, very excited to be writing this story, but I do apologize if it takes me a little while longer than usual to get out chapters. I'm putting **so much **thought into each chapter to really develop the shift in Peeta's character correctly. Which is also why the chapters might be a little longer, to really convey what I want. I'll also be starting college, so I'll be a bit busy.

I have no idea how long this will be, I'm retelling almost all of _Mockingjay _since I think it is all important (hence **All **That Remains.)

Thank you so much for all the support in writing this. Please continue to **read and review! **I _love _hearing other people's opinions on events, and as a few of you may know I can go on for hours analyzing these characters with you :)

And if you haven't already, the first two parts of this series are called _The Nine Lives of Peeta Mellark _and _Thirteen Reasons Why_. Both can be found on my profile.

Let's begin!


	2. Prologue

Prologue

_Fire rages through a dense jungle, explosions fill the air in an endless torrent of fear. I run, I scream for her, but smoke chokes me. I fall, and a canon fires. It's too late._

I wake up in a cold sweat, panting heavily as I sit up from the thin mat I call a bed. The monochromatic cell greets me, reminding me that my nightmares are not real, though what I am facing may well be worse.

At least they don't have her.

That's the only consolation I've had these past few days in the prison, or wherever I am being held. No one is being very forthcoming, not that I really expected them too. Still, I'm more than a little confused-my treatment here has been about as far from what I expected as possible. Granted, they did capture me, knock me out, and lock me in some unknown location, but still, while I've been here I've been well fed, and all my injuries have been treated by soft-voiced nurses.

I know the treatment won't last. I know what's coming, at least in a vague sense. What I don't know is what they are preparing me for. It seems that my questions are soon to be answered, however, as President Snow walks into my cell, alight with a false smile that reeks of bad intention. "Peeta," he chirps, far too cheerful for what I know his words will be.

"I do hope your treatment here has been satisfactory?" I eye him warily, but don't give him the satisfaction of an answer. "I am sure you're away this isn't going to last, however. You're far too...valuable, to us," he adds icily. "Still, I require one last favor of you. You're going to call for a cease fire from the rebels."

I glare at him, trying to put all my hatred in front of my fear. "Why would I do that?" I ask.

Again, he smiles, sending a shiver down my spine. "Do you want her to live?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep my face clear though I feel a sharp pain in my stomach. "Should this Districts lose-which they will-we can't very well spare the rebel leader, can we?" he asks.

"She's not!" I protest. "She didn't want this! We didn't know."

Snow leans in closer, the sickening sweetness of his breath making me nauseous as he hisses, "Exactly." He pulls away, continuing in a brisk formality again. "Call for the ceasefire, and you can present her in whatever manner you decide. Pregnant, alone, confused-anything. I, nor any one, will refute it."

I study him for a moment, trying to understand why he would even offer me this boon. "Why do you want a ceasefire?" I demand. "Couldn't you crush the districts? I mean, you have the most advanced weaponry."

His eyes flash for a moment in a mixture of fear and hatred-so fast I think I might have imagined it. But he continues coolly, with a false smile, "Peeta! I am not so cold as you may think. I do not want needless deaths on my hands." His eyes lock on mine, a challenge, though I refuse to look away. So, his voice sickly smooth, he continues. "It broke my heart to have to do that to District 12," he announces, savagery behind his words.

"Do what?" I ask, trying to mask the fear from my voice, unwilling to give him that satisfaction. He gives me a smile filled with fake sympathy. "Why, bomb it, of course." He says the words with such simplicity as my world comes crashing down around me yet again. I grip the edges of my bed desperately, trying to keep myself upright despite the news. I gasp, looking up at him with a question in my eyes. His eyes narrow, dropping all pretenses as with a savage growl he hisses, "They're all dead. Your family, your friends. Those few that survived escaped to District 13. And if you don't cooperate, they will soon follow the rest of District 12 to the grave." Then, abruptly reverting to his pompous self, he adds, "Caesar will be waiting in an hour for your interview."

The door swings shut behind him, leaving me alone in the emptiness. I struggle for breath as I try to process what he has just told me. My friends, my parents. My brothers-one just had a little baby.

It's too much.

I'm really alone now.

Ten seconds. That's how long I allow myself to grieve. Ten seconds of a soul-crushing despair, punctured by cries into nothingness begging for mercy. An end to the pain. But I can't give up, not now.

I have to pull myself together. I have to be what they ask of me, because it is her only chance. And though I feel empty, holes ripped into the only semblance of normalcy left to me, I have to go on. I don't know how, yet. I don't know how to survive with this burden.

Yet I know I'll do it.

As ever, I'll do whatever it takes to save her.


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The familiar stage greets me as I pass through the wings, the luxury of the set a glamour over the true intent of bringing me here. I feel nauseous under the pressing heat of the spotlight, its beam dredging up memories barely faded by time. Caesar greets me with his usual excitement, though I sense a fear behind his words, too. He gestures to the chair beside him, and I take a seat as the camera begins rolling.

"So...Peeta...welcome back," he begins, his voice almost an apology.

I try to smile, though I'm not sure how well I succeed. "I bet you though you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar."

"I confess, I did," Caesar admits with a shrug. "The night before the Quarter Quell...well, who ever though we'd see you again?"

"It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure," I agree, dropping my pretense of a smile. I'm finding it hard to appreciate the fact that I am not dead as we had all expected, when the reality is that I am being held captive by the Capitol, and that Katniss is who knows where, doing who knows what-and in danger.

"I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."

I try to hold back a surprised gasp as he brings up our "child" again. I'm not sure why it's so much more painful now-it was me, after all, who initiated the lie to begin with. I guess it never stops hurting, that I'll never get that chance with her.

"That was it. Clear and simple," I respond. "But other people had plans as well." I've put many of the pieces together myself, helped along the way by the occasional whispered conversations of various doctors and nurses. The districts are in a full rebellion. District 13 exists-not only exists, but is the stronghold behind the rebellion. That is where Katniss is, along with most of the other surviving tributes. Haymitch lied to us, betrayed our trust and plotted against our intention. Despite my anger toward Haymitch-which is great, to say the least-I can't help but be grateful, because despite everything he saved her.

"Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena?" Caesar adds, interrupting my thoughts. "Help us sort a few things out."

I nod slowly, trying to organize the words in my head. That night is such a blur to me, the fear still so real, that it is hard for me to even talk about. "The last night...to tell you about the last night..." My words are jumbled, the memories taking root and distracting my thoughts. "Well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt in the arena. It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, jungle...green and alive and tickling. That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people have died-some of them defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won't be you."

My own words paint a picture behind my eyes, of that crippling fear-a fear still present now-that it won't be, that it can't ever be enough to save her. I can see a paleness wash over Caesar's face, and I'm afraid I've gone too far. That in my vivid description of the trials of the Games I have somehow managed to condemn the Capitol in a way that could cost us everything. But I don't stop, because I can't.

"Once you're in the arena, the rest of the world becomes very distant. All the people and things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you're going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it's very costly."

"It costs your life," Caesar intones.

"Oh no," I reply with a humorless chuckle. "It costs more than your life. To murder innocent people? It costs everything you are."

"_Everything you are_."

There's an intake of breath, then silence. This insight into the truth of the Games-that it is sheer, unadulterated murder, with a price higher than death-is unheard of to the light minds of the Capitol. I gasp in a breath, forcing myself to continue and keep the memories, the pain, at bay.

"So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss. But even without knowing about the rebels, it didn't feel right. Everything was too complicated. I found myself regretting I hadn't run off with her earlier in the day, as she had suggested. But there was no getting out of it at that point."

"You were too caught up in Beetee's plan to electrify the salt lake," Caesar replied, though it did little to ease my conscious.

"Too busy playing allies with the others. I should have never let them separate us!" I exclaim, smacking my hand on the arm of the chair as I lean forward. "That's when I lost her."

"When you stayed at the lightning tree, and she and Johanna Mason took the coil of wire down to the water," Caesar interjects a clarification.

"I didn't want to! But I couldn't argue with Beetee without indicating we were about to break away from the alliance. When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself." The memories are achingly sharp through the haze that shrouds that nights events. "I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena...blew out."

"Katniss blew it out, Peeta," Caesar gently insists. "You've seen the footage."

It was true, I had. They had shown it to me shortly after I had been captured, so I knew the gravity of what had occurred. What she had done. It had scared me more than I dared show, knowing the depth of what she had done and wondering if there was any way to recover from it. The worst part is knowing that this-rebellion-is what she wants. That, in the end, she had sided with them, and now her I am about to call for an end to what she is working for. An end to the tyranny of the Capitol. It's what I want too, but it's secondary. Snow has given me this one opportunity-our only hope. And I can't let it go. Not if there is a chance to save her.

"She didn't know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee's plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire." My voice is sharp, leaving no room for negotiation. This is what happened. I assert it with such force that I even begin to believe it, though I have long known better.

"All right. It just looks suspicious," he continues, his brows contracting with doubt. "As if she was part of the rebels' plan all along."

"Really?" I contradict, throwing myself out of my chair and gripping the arms of Caesar's, crouched with intensity. "And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?" My voice rises in pitch and volume as the fear that I am not doing enough, that I am convincing no one, eats at me. I don't know exactly how much Katniss knew-though it is clear she was aware what she was doing when she blew out the forcefield-but I am at least confident in my belief that she was not a part of the plan, and I try to let the truth color my assertions. "She didn't know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive."

"Okay, Peeta," he replies soothingly, meeting my gaze evenly though my face is only inches from him and contorted with anger and fear. "I believe you."

"Okay." I breath out, for his voice sounds sincere. And Caesar speaks for the lesser-minded Capitol-if he believes it, so do they. I can only hope I've done enough elsewhere. I sink back into my chair, and Caesar gives me a moment of respite before continuing his questioning.

"What about your mentor, Haymitch Abernathy?"

My face goes blank. "I don't know what Haymitch knew," I answer coolly, though I feel a seething rage boiling up within me.

"Could he have been part of the conspiracy?" Caesar prods, tilting his head toward the crowd ever so slightly as if asking for their opinion. They boo and hiss in response, Haymitch's name breeding no friendly feelings here.

"He never mentioned it."

Caesar leans forward intently, chin resting upon his hand. "What does your heart tell you?" he insists.

I pause, realizing the dual purpose that could here be served. Yes, I am furious with Haymitch, and I can let that anger drive my words. He should have told us. He is a liar, and a traitor, and his actions-his secrets-may cost us our lives. But it might not be too late-he may be able to save her yet. Beyond hope of redemption, Haymitch is a traitor and a rebel. If I can separate ourselves from him, clarify that we do not and did not agree with what he did...perhaps it will help them find leniency for her. "That I shouldn't have trusted him," I announce, a savage edge to my words. "That's all." I'm breathing heavily as I look around, wanting the audience to believe, to know that I mean what I say.

Caesar looks concerned as he asks, "We can stop now if you want."

"Was there more to discuss?"

"I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you're too upset..."

I sit up straighter in my chair. "Oh, I'm not too upset to answer that." This is the moment I know Snow will be watching carefully. I have to be convincing, they _must _believe me. It doesn't matter if it is what I truly want-which is actually to see Snow and the Capitol burned to rubble just as District 12 was-what matters is what they see. I wet my lips, thinking over the words I had carefully planned out. I begin speaking smoothly and quickly, my purpose clear with the intensity of my words. "I want everyone watching-whether you're on the Capitol or the rebel side-to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings." I pause, letting my words ring throughout the stadium, urging the crowd to feel their truth. "We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that-what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?"

Caesar looks taken aback, surprised by my words and the force behind them. "I don't really...I'm not sure I'm following..."

"We can't fight one another, Caesar," I insist, leaning forward again. I know what I'm saying is true, in a sense-the perils that come with all out war could be fatal for life as we know it. But I also know there are causes worth fighting for, dying for-and it makes the words burn even as a speak them. "There won't be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn't lay down their weapons-and I mean, as in _very soon-_-it's all over anyway."

"So...you're calling for a cease-fire?" he clarifies with an arch of his eyebrow.

"Yes. I'm calling for a cease-fire," I manage. It doesn't matter, now, if it is what I truly believe. What matters is that in just a few words I might have saved her. Might have given her a chance that I'll never have. I'd said in the first Games all I wanted was to not lost myself-to die knowing who I was. I'm not sure who I am anymore. I'm calling for something I don't believe in-for mercy against those who have stolen everything from me.

She is the only thing I am certain of anymore. She is worth saving. And knowing that-knowing that I love her-is the only tether I have to who I used to be.

I give Caesar an almost sarcastic look, ending the interview on my terms as I say, "Now why don't we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?"

"All right," he agrees, "I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming."

And it is over. I have done my duty. I catch Snow's eye as I am shuffled past, and he meets my look with a malicious glint in his eye. I have done what he wanted, and perhaps she will be saved.

As for me, I know my troubles are only just beginning. I'd escaped nothing in leaving the arena. My life is still a ticking clock, and before my eyes my time is running out.


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Pain.

I see it with ever step, every word. It's red with blood, gray with grief.

I had never known pain to be tangible. Even in the arena, blood poisoning hazing my vision, it had not been like this. Then, at least, I knew the pain was finite. I knew eventually it had to end-and she was there.

Here, I am alone. There is no promise of death to save me. Only the promise of more pain.

I think maybe I could have handled the physical torture alone. The beatings, the starvation-as painful as they are, at least if they had left my thoughts untouched I would have had a refuge.

But, of course, mercy is not a trademark of the Capitol.

The mental abuse is unrelenting. They take the guilt I already feel-about the districts, the innocents, Katniss-and maximize it, feed the flames until it's all I can do not to collapse in despair. My cell-it's a cell now, no longer the moderately nice room I was in before-is next to Johanna's. I was glad, at first, thinking there may be some sort of camaraderie, some strength in the presence of another in a similar situation.

I was wrong.

The only comfort our proximity brings is the comfort of her screams intertwined with my own. The knowledge that while I'm in pain, she is as well. That if I'm starving, she must be even more so, because she has been here even longer than I.

And that's no comfort at all.

She's just another victim caught in our web of lies. A casualty of the war we unwittingly started, perpetuated by those who took advantage of our names and our fame without our permission. Stuck in this cell, I'm beginning to doubt everything I had come to believe. It's not that I doubt if the Capitol is corrupt-that is obvious, still. But I'm doubting whether they can be defeated, and whether it is worth the price we must pay.

And I'm beginning to doubt her.

Each blow makes me cringe, each cut sends my thoughts cowering to corners where I am disgusted by what I find. I doubt now whether any of it will make a difference, whether even she can change anything when the Capitol is so powerful. I'm frightened, too, that everything will be in vain. That all the innocents have died for no reason at all, for a cause that demanded martyrs but was doomed to fail from the start.

And I'm afraid that I will soon follow them.

I could accept my death when I knew what I was dying for-the woman I love. But now, what am I dying for? I can't find a reason behind the terror, a cause behind the pain that comes with every motion. I just want this to end. I want to go home. Starvation makes me grow selfish, dredging up the very characteristics in myself that I once vilified in others.

They are taking my own self from me.

They are taking everything.

They only bring me water once a day-just enough to keep me alive. It's warm and bitter, but it quenches the worst of my thirst. It is the only way I can mark the passing of days, too, as I can't rely on the regularity of my torture sessions. By this count I think it's been about 2 weeks when they arrive.

The heavy metal door creeks and I stumble forward, desperate for the water I think is coming. Instead, a huge man walks in dressed in the typical prison guard uniform. He grabs me roughly by the arms and drags me to my feet, pulling me out the door.

"No..." I protest weakly, my throat feeling unbearably dry as my limbs begin to shake. I'd been brought out for my last torturing just a few hours ago-I was still bleeding and the bruises hadn't even begun to darken yet. My knees weaken and I know I _can't _go through it again, but the man just jerks me back up with a heavy thump to my back.

"Keep walking," he growls menacingly. I stumble forward, trying to maintain some shred of dignity though I lean heavily on his arm. He turns down an unfamiliar hallway, and my stomach drops as I anticipate what we might find behind the heavy doors ahead. With a horrid creaking the doors open, revealing yet another cell, much bigger than my own. It was still dark inside, and with squinting eyes I thought I could make out two figures hunched toward the back corner.

"No, this won't do," said a new voice from behind me, and with a click the room was illuminated in painfully bright fluorescent lights. I threw an arm over my sensitive eyes-a mistake, because it left my stomach exposed, which my guard took advantage of by punching me in the gut. I doubled over with a moan, ducking my head so they couldn't see the tears that welled in my eyes.

"Reg! Restrain yourself!" came the new voice again. Pain still erupting, I turned to see who this new speaker was. A white-clad man stood in the doorway, much skinner and more elegant looking than 'Reg'-more of the vision of the capitol I was used to, though hadn't seen much of lately in this hell-hole. And somehow, though he is slight and hardly looks like he could throw a punch, I am infinitely more scared of him.

If there's one thing the Games have taught me, it's that there are things a lot worse than just physical pain alone.

It's then that I finally look up again, back to the corner I had first thought I saw the figures. And I gasp, as I realize that, in fact, I know these two.

Hunched on the left, sickeningly thin, with cuts tracing her pale skin and her flaming hair singed off in places, is the Avox girl from our first stay in the Capitol. I recognize the pale freckles that line her young face, now matted with blood and written with resignation that comes only from absolute hopelessness. I wish I were who I used to be, to help her somehow, give her some sort of hope or at least a smile. But I can't, because I am no longer him.

It takes a moment for me to recognize the man on the right. His face is so swollen and bruised, it is barely recognizable. He cradles an arm to his chest, blood still oozing from its mangled form. Finally he looks up, and I gasp as I find Darius beneath the gore. Our eyes lock, and suddenly a thousand visions of District 12 come rushing back-a time that is lost to both of us. Fear is written in every line on his face, his eyes swimming in a pain I knew too well.

"Yes, you know these two, don't you Peeta?" the man asks, placing a bracing hand on my shoulder though his voice drips with the false sympathy I associate with Snow. He pauses for a moment, watching them intently before giving me a small smile. "Just be glad it isn't you. _Yet._" He pulls out a remote from a deep pocket and presses a series of buttons, triggering an opening in the stone wall. A strange looking trail wheels out, accompanied by three new people-two women and a man, all dressed similarly in white.

"Good afternoon," he greets curtly. "Shall we begin?"

One of the women-taller, with raven black hair pulled into a tight bun-nods. "Yes. No sense in delaying. "The girl first, I think."

The second man agrees. "Yes. She's been here too long. Reg, if you'll help."

My guard grunts and takes a few steps toward her, picking her up as if she is weightless. She makes no move to resist, and it's clear to me she has already given up. There is only so much a person can take, and I wonder how long it has been since she passed that limit. Once she is placed in the chair, the three newcomers work strapping her in tightly and dressing her in wires and needles across her body, and I feel a roiling in my stomach. Reg comes back to me, holding my arms tightly behind my back so there is no chance for me to move, to help her.

I wouldn't, though-couldn't. Not anymore. I can't find my bravery any more. It has been swallowed by fear. I lost my sense of justice to starvation. The line between my hatred and my love are blurring together, and sometimes I can't quite see clearly enough to distinguish.

"Lavinia," one of the doctor-types says, flipping through the pages on a clipboard as she speaks. "So many years an Avox...you should be glad we showed you such mercy. Rebels deserve none. The time for sympathy has passed, however. You betrayed, and you shall pay." She glances over to the others. "What level first? Shall we start off easy? Perhaps at five?" They nod.

With a series of swift clicks she sets it to do _something-_what, I'm not sure yet. All four take several steps backward and watch intently as she presses the final button. There is a buzzing, and suddenly Lavinia is screaming. Her limbs jerk unnaturally and I can almost hear sizzling when it occurs to me-they are electrocuting her.

If I ever had any doubt whether Avoxes could still scream without their tongues, this is incontrovertible proof. Her screams were terrible-loud, desperate, pitiful. Yet I can do nothing, and I try to do nothing.

The doctors are scribbling down notes on sheets of paper, until the original man finally looks up, muttering slightly. "Hm. Yes, well, that didn't seem to be very effective at all." I wonder if we were watching two different things, because it seemed to me to be very affective. He leans over, pulling Lavinia's chin up to make eye contact with her. "Care to answer our questions now, dear?" he asks condescendingly, and I realize they had been interrogating her-pointless, though, because neither of them can talk. She doesn't respond, just meets his gaze with venom and spits in his face.

He stumbles back, anger clouding his features as he wipes his face. "Well, if that's how you feel, why don't we try _much_ higher. Lyria! Set it to 10!"

She obeys without question, and suddenly the screams are no longer human. It lasts about 10 seconds. 10 slow seconds of the worst pain and the worst emptiness in one. And then it i over.

The screaming quiets all at once, as if cut by a knife. Her body goes limp in its shackles and her mouth lolls open, and though I was standing across the room I can almost hear her heart cease to beat. It's horrible to watch, and I try to turn my head from her lifeless form, because my mind's eye keeps turning her into Katniss-deep hair sent everywhere, gray eyes dull and lifeless, too far gone for me to ever retrieve.

"What a waste," one of the women chimes in with fake pity. She shrugs her shoulders. "Call someone to take care of this."

The first man-I've determined now that he is really in charge of all of this-turns to me, his face calm. "President Snow wished you to be present for this. Though he also requested you not be intimately introduced to our, er, _shocking _friend over here. Your friend, on the other hand, will not be granted the same mercy. He starts tomorrow." Darius whimpers, curling into the fetal position on the floor. "Any last words to him?" he asks.

I open my mouth, trying to force out anything. _I'm sorry. I'll fix this. You don't deserve this. _

_It's not your fault._

_It's mine. _

But nothing comes. I can't even meet his frightened stare for more than a heartbeat before looking away in shame. I shake my head, self-preservation kicking in as I know that words will only bring pain, for both of us. The man smiles, though it does nothing to calm my fear. "Take him away," he calls, and I am again forcibly led back to me cell. The door slams shut, leaving me alone in the dark once again.

They didn't even leave me water.

The next few days I'm left relatively alone. They bring me water and food once a day, and that's the only time my solitude is interrupted. No beatings, no torture. At least, not in the physical sense.

But I can hear him.

His screams seem to crawl under my skin, melt into my blood so that even when they stop they still ring in my memory. Even when I clutch my hands over my ears, even when my own screams fill the echoing emptiness of my cell-I hear him.

In between his screams I can hear the yells of his torturers, demanding information that he does not have and could not reveal even if he did. It's sick, that he is being punished for something he cannot do-though, I suppose, this is the Capitol.

The past few hours I've laid flat on my floor, the cool concrete the only thing I can focus on without going insane. I am thinking about it's strength, it's ability to hold so much weight without breaking, when once again my door opens with a creak, and a guard-different, this time-walks in, pulls me to my feet without a word, a drags me to the cell adjacent mine, where Darius resides.

His cell is blindingly bright, a world of difference from my own. I wish it were darker, however, for it illuminates every wound on him in full effect. He is barely recognizable, even more so than when I saw him a few days ago. What's worse than the bruising and cuts, the swelling of broken bones and infected scars, is the _lack _of limbs. I gag as I count four missing fingers, and see them strewn about the room, mangled and festering. His right foot is half severed off, and hangs limp and useless on the ground.

The guard throws me to the ground, before picking Darius up by the collar and punching him in the stomach, three times-hard. He chokes and vomits, and the guard grunts in anger as some of it spews on his crisp attire. He shoves him back to the ground, pulling out a knife with a sickening glint of silver.

"You'll pay for that," he growls. "If that's all that can come from your mouth, I don't really think you need lips."

Darius' eyes widen, and he throws his destroyed hands in front of his mouth, my the man slashes out anyway, cutting two long strips into each wrist. Darius drops his hands with a scream, and I turn away, knowing what is about to happen.

More screams.

Red blood. Pools around my feet the color of life. The color of death.

It dries, and darkens, into the blackness of despair-a void that is all I have. All I know.

He dies the next day. And I don't cry. I don't scream. I sigh. I am relieved. Because the screaming is done. The pain will return, but the screaming is done. My mind is safe.

Or so I believe.


	5. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_"Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brake on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't...find out."_

My own words haunt me, because they are that-mine. Symptoms of the Capitol, yes, but they were spoken from my mouth, products of my mind. Their words, their ideals, they bite at me, press at the corners of my thoughts until I wonder if they are right and we are wrong-have always been wrong. How could rebellion ever be the answer, if this is what comes with it? Pain, death, grief, loss, doubt...it can't be worth it.

I feel empty. That's the only way I know to describe it. Devoid of hope. Bereft of everything. I don't think of her face, anymore. It doesn't bring comfort like it used to. The warmth of her embrace is far removed, the depths of her eyes a distant memory. I can't find the love I used to hold-I know it's there, somewhere, but it is buried under layers of pain and blood, tears and regret.

I'm not living in the dream any more. That bright image of a future has long been dimmed. It flickers like a flame at the end of a wick. And a breeze is coming.

It's a cold, hard road to wake up to.

My days pass with a monotony only associated with imprisonment. The solitude is suffocating, and I fear the silence will consume me completely. But it is better than the alternative. And so I try not to dwell in my misery as for three days my only companions are my fears, the only noises my ragged breathing.

Until Snow himself pays me a visit.

The door bursts open and his silhouette is illuminated for a moment in its frame, casting a shadow that reaches to where I am huddled on the ground. I look up, squinting as my eyes adjust to the suddenly bright light. My stomach clenches. In the weeks following our first conversation, I haven't seen him once, and I know this visit can't be good.

"Peeta," he says with his usual enthusiasm. "It's been too long. I do hope you have been enjoying your, ah, accommodations."

I'm in no mindset to play his game. "Why are you here?" I ask emotionlessly, my voice raw from disuse.

He smiles, folding his hands against his protruding stomach. "I wanted to check in on our favorite _guest_."

"What do you want from me?" I persist, my voice weaker than I would have wished. It breaks against my chapped lips, and I cringe at his booming laugh in response.

"What do we _want _from you? Why, many things. Your support would be a lovely blow to the opposition, but I know that is quite a far-fetched hope. It would also be nice to know the whereabouts of your Mockingjay, but I do believe that you have no idea where she is."

"Then why?" I beg. "Why are you doing this?"

Snow's face is malicious, the joy he is getting from my pain almost palpable. "To break her," he growls, his white teeth shining unnaturally in the dimness of my cell. "So she watches you slowly fall to pieces, broken and irreparable, while she sits pretty behind the protection of District 13. Death would be a mistake for you, Peeta, because it would light her with a desire for vengeance that perhaps even the fall of the Capitol couldn't satiate. But to see you collapse, to see you tortured, to see you lose yourself...nothing could be more detrimental."

I gasp, choking on the dryness of my throat. I struggle to stand, starvation causing my weak limbs to shake violently. "No," I mutter, my desperation clearly written on my face.

"Yes," he responds with force. "She is dangerous to us, I am not afraid to admit it. The love she invokes among the people, the hope and inspiration the draw from her...it is dangerous indeed. She cannot proceed as strong as she is now." I collapse to the ground, heaving with silent fear. "But I am not without pity, Peeta. I will give you one last chance, to save the both of you." He squats so our faces are level once again, eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "You will give a final interview with Caesar tonight. You _will _convince everyone-the Rebels, Katniss, _everyone-_that a ceasefire is what is it is an absolute necessity."

"No," I cough. Hearing Snow speak about Katniss, it has relit everything I thought I lost. The love, the respect, the memories-the fear. And I can't let him harm her. It drives me with a feverish pulse, and my words come out with haste and intensity, vibrating my whole being. "I won't. You deserve everything you have coming to you. Do whatever you want to me, I won't condemn her again."

Snow gave another sardonic smile. "But you will. Her life hangs in the balance."

I hesitate, feeling a sinking sensation in my stomach. "You said yourself you don't know where she is."

"Not specifically. Not enough to capture her, for instance." He pauses, contemplative. "But I think we are past the point of capture. Death is the only option now. And that is easily achieved." He stands again, glancing at me appraisingly. His eyes glint with distaste at my haggard appearance, and he pulls out a handkerchief, as if trying to wipe the dirt of this place off him before he even leaves. "I think we have been keeping you a little too much in the dark, Peeta, so let me fill you in. Your Katniss is currently holed up in District 13-quite literally, for District 13 is underground. We don't know exact locations of anyone, nor exactly how far it expands. But we do know that our latest technology is quite impressive. Bombs that can tunnel deep underground, and explode there. Quite devastating, don't you think? And if we fire enough of them-and trust me, we have plenty-surely one of them must find its way close to her." He stops, letting the words sink in.

"Is that a risk you are willing to take?"


	6. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I clutch the edges of the cold, metal chair, squinting my eyes against the brightness of the lights. I feel a sickness in my stomach, and my leg moves without my urging, tapping my metal foot against the hard ground. The constant clanging is the only thing keeping me together in this moment. They've tried to make me up-slightly. The worst of my scars have been covered by makeup, and my soiled rags have been replaced with Capitol-worthy attire. Although I think the nice suit they've put me in just makes my bruises and blood more obvious, even under the layers of powder. And nothing can disguise how thin I have become.

Caesar eyes me, and I can see weariness lining his once-young face-but I don't pity him. I can't. I feel feverish as my eyes roam the audience, and I bare my teeth slightly in anger. They're to blame, aren't they? It's their desires that fan the flames, their disinterest that left me imprisoned, beaten, starved, tortured.

"So, Peeta. I believe you had a statement you wanted to make about the war?" Caesar prompts, though somewhat lacking in his usual fervor. My gaze snaps to him, my vision focusing into a tunnel on his face. I nod, knowing what I have to say.

Fire in my eyes. Ice in my throat.

"_We. Must. Stop. Fighting," _I gasp, my knuckles turning white from the vise-like grip I have on my chair. The speech is memorized, engrained in my head as Snow envisioned it. I know without looking that as I speak, his graphics will flash behind me, illuminating his-my-point. And it makes me sick. "Look at the Districts. Look at the damage! The dam in 7...The train accident and it's toxic waste...The granary collapsing...All because of rebel actions. Even now, were the fighting to stop, we are looking at _years _of rebuilding, and astronomical amounts of money. What will happen if it keeps going? How will we recover?" My words are urgent, but I'm growing desperate. Words can only do so much. She knew that. She took action.

I have no action to take. My fates been sealed by iron chains, the scent of blood.

My speech rots in my mouth, suddenly the words bitter against my tongue.

The sound of static erupts in the stadium, and inexplicable shock crosses every face before me as the screen starts to play a new dialogue.

I whip around as I recognize her familiar voice, confused for amount about why I am hearing her. But it's gone as quick as it came, and I can see Snow glaring me, and I stumble over my words trying to resume my speech. The screen keeps flickering back and forth between the two images, though, with the audience eagerly gasping at the battle and Caesar looking dumbfounded. It goes on like this for several minutes, and I can feel Snow's gaze growing more lethal as it is trained on me. The dull buzz of the screen, finally in control of the Capitol, mimics the buzz of fear in my head, and I press my fingers into my temple, trying to shut out everything.

When finally the broadcast is resumed, I can hear Snow's furious voice booming obscenities against the rebels. His words blur together, and I can't divine any meaning in them as I try to calm my breathing. My legs are shaking, the metal making a horrible clanging noise that sets me on edge. I know I'm almost hyperventilating when I feel a hand on my shoulder, and Caesar asks gently, "Peeta?"

I glance up, my vision spinning. He's standing above me, holding my shoulder back as I almost pitch myself forward. I grip the arms of the chair, steadying myself against the rapidly decaying world. Caesar hesitates a moment, making sure I am okay, before he takes his seat again, crossing his legs though I see them tremble.

"So, Peeta," he says, his voice a perfect mask of calm. "Do you have any closing remarks? Anything you'd like to say to Katniss?"

Katniss. _Katniss_. Her name rings loudly in my head, in my stomach. In my heart.

_Save her. Save her. Save her. _

The words pulse with the beat of my heart, and my face contorts with fear as a toward the camera, pleading. "Katniss...how do you think this will end?" I ask earnestly. "What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you...in Thirteen..." I pause, Snow's threat pounding in my ears. Bombs. So many bombs. Explosions. Fire. No one is safe. _No one. "Dead by morning!" _

Snow shouts to end it, but I'm not through. I have no idea if the cameras are still rolling, but I keep trying. Yelling. Screaming. "They're going to bomb you, Katniss! Please! Don't let them hurt you, Katniss! You've got to be okay. Please d-"

That's when the first blow struck.

To my prosthetic leg, sending me crashing to the ground.

Another to my ribs. I hear a crack and suddenly breathing is hard, so hard. I gasp, choking on blood as a foot meets my nose. It breaks, too, and blood cascades down my face. I hear screaming. I taste fear.

It's a relief when, with a sickening crunch against my skull, the lights dim.

And I feel no pain anymore.


	7. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Here it's safe, here it's warm. Here the daisies guard you from harm. _

I don't know why Katniss' lullaby swims in my head. Maybe it's nostalgia. Maybe it's because I want to be comforted, as Rue was before she died. I hear it echoing all over, and for a while I am convinced she is here, singing it to me. Her clear voice is so familiar, so vivid that I reach my hands out, searching. "Katniss," I whisper fervently, seeing her slim shadow against the wall of my cell. I jerk my head, expecting to see her watching me.

But nothing is there.

I'm alone.

I'm broken all over. But I've long since forgotten the pain. It's amazing how, as you're dying, your body can put a block on the pain. I don't feel my broken ribs or my bruised throat, the gash on my head or my fingers that have been crushed.

I'm dying. But I'm going to be free.

There's a banging on the door and I laugh at the noise. It doesn't matter anymore. I warned her. She'll be safe, right? That's all I want. All I can do.

I want to go, now.

A guard barges in and grabs me unceremoniously, dragging me forward on chained feet. We pass by shadowy figures in the halls, but no faces register. He throws me into a cold, metal chair in the corner of the unnervingly large room, empty except for the screen in the corner.

"Don't move," he growls as he turns back out the door. As if I would. As if I even _could_.

I count the seconds in drips of blood from my arm, crimson drops spilling onto the crisp white floor. _One...Two...Three..._Each drip is a second closer, a breath easier. I'm so fixated by the deep red that I don't notice the new company in the room until I hear my name.

"Peeta," a voice says, so distinct that even in my state I cannot mistake it. I turn my head, meeting his eyes with no fear.

He cannot hurt me now.

Snow contemplates me for a moment, eyes contracting as I refuse to flinch under his malicious glare, then he smiles. "Peeta, Peeta, Peeta...What _are _we to do with you?" He waits, apparently for me to answer, but I have no words anymore. "You have no thoughts? Well, luckily I do." His eyes glance up, and behind me I hear movement, but it sounds far away and I can't focus on it.

"You remember," he begins, "During your first time in the games, when you were stung by a tracker jacker?" He gives a small chuckle as I nod slowly. I can almost taste the pain again. Memories like that don't fade; they scar. His smile mocks me as he continues, "Well, we are going to replicate that little experience for you."

Doctors in white coats come on either side of me, rolling up my torn sleeves. I notice a tray where a syringe lays, and I have no doubt what is about to happen. I feel blood in my mouth from where I bite my tongue. I imagine my lips painted red, streaks down my skin, pooling on the ground. It isn't over. It will never be over.

The memories are vivid, still. I remember burning, a world set on fire as I longed to crawl out of my own skin. I remember nothing seemed right anymore, as shapes melded together into hideous mutations of normalcy. I remember not knowing wrong from right, tripping over clumsy feet and choking on fear. I remember her. I remember screaming. I remember fear.

I wish I could be strong. But I can't help the wetness that forms in my eyes. The whimper that escapes my mouth. I wish I could be so much more than what I am.

I wish I could still save her.

"Don't look so frightened yet, Peeta. We aren't even to the best part," he continues with poorly concealed glee. He kneels in front of my chair, forcing my chin up to meet his gaze, too-long nails digging into my skin. "We're friends, aren't we Peeta?" His fingers move, a fraction of a movement but scratching small lines down my face. "And I'm always honest with my friends. So I'm going to tell you exactly what is going to happen. I think the vengeance will be all the sweeter, if you know what's going to happen, and can do nothing to stop it." He motions to someone, and I hear a whir of gears as the screen is illuminated. "Tracker jacker venom targets the part of your brain that controls fear. We've discovered that, with the right application of memory and venom, we can alter your memories." My eyes widen, and Snow's smile widens. "You're beginning to see, aren't you? How we will play for you all your good memories, while you are under the influence of the venom. We will contort your memories into nightmares. So, given time, Katniss will no longer be the girl you love, but a danger, the biggest danger you have ever known. You will hate her with every fiber of your being. You will want her dead. _You _will want to kill her. _And that is when we will send you back to her."_

I can't breathe. I try to scream but nothing comes out. I won't do it. I can't hate Katniss. I can't _kill _Katniss. I won't. I can't. I'll kill myself first. I scramble desperately but the chains are too tight. The screen is turning on and I know what's coming. I can't. My voice checks back in and I yell until my throat is raw. I won't. My wrists are bloody from where the chains dig into them. I love her. I can't do it.

Her face. I remember it so well. The screen is so big, so clear. I miss her. I love her. She's talking, the words as familiar to my ears as when I first heard them in the games. Promises of love that I still wish were true.

"_I love her. I love her. I love her,_" I whisper furiously to myself. There's a prick in my arm, and fire runs through my veins. The image flickers. My mind trembles. I see red. I _see_ pain.

Her face fills the screen, but it's changing. Her teeth grow, forming fangs as she watches me. She's watching me. Waiting. I won't. The world around her is on fire. I feel its heat against my skin. It's burning me. I can't. It's not real. I love h-

"Liar!" I scream at the screen, shaking violently as I watch her lean down to me. She's going to kill me. I know it. She's not human anymore. But I can't see anymore. I can't breathe.

I scream and I scream until no more sound comes out, but no one hears me. No one saves me. No one ever will.

I don't know how much time has passed when the pain starts to dull, and my mind starts to return to me. I gasp, choking on blood. Blackness crowds my vision, though the nightmares are gone.

But I remember.

I force myself to repeat it again. "I love her. I love her. I _love _her."

The words are ash in my mouth.


	8. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

My sleep is haunted by nightmares. In the dark solitude of my cell, I'm not even sure when I've woken up. There are faces in the shadows, and the shadows are growing larger with each breath. They engulf me, covering my in blackness until I feel like I am suffocating in the memories, in my dark, twisted memories.

No one comes when I shout.

My throat raw, the fear consumes me. My arms are covered in scratches from where my own nails have dug deep.

I'm tearing myself apart.

Each day they come. I don't know how many times now. I hear their footsteps echoing down the hall. The bring me back to him. The same chair welcomes me, the same screen glows, the same bite in my arm.

_District 12 on fire. Explosions and screams and terror and death. A city burning and the people along with it. This was my home. It's turned to ashes. _

"This is your fault, Peeta. Yours and Katniss'. Thousands of lives lost, because of you."

_My fault. I caused death. So much death. Why am I alive? Why do I still bleed? Bombs and ash and smoke and pain. To blame. I'm to blame. She's to blame. _

"No," I plead through gritted teeth. Tears mix with blood, staining my cheeks a watery red. "I didn't mean-I didn't want-"

"But you _did_. You rebelled. And they paid."

I sob, trying to pull out of the chains until I rub my wrists raw. The scene plays behind my eyes long after the screen goes dark. _She made me rebel. I loved her and she used me. I loved her and she condemned them all to death. Thousands of dead. Red on my ledger. Debt to be repaid. I am to blame. But she will pay. _

Another prick in my arm. Another video begins to play.

And her face appears again.

_She's feeding me something. I'm too weak to move. It's sweet. It's so sweet. My eyes are heavy. Why are they so heavy? _

"Poison," Snow whispers. "She gave you poison."

_Poison. My vision slants. Her face morphs and she is cackling. Running through the cave entrance as the walls melt around her. I am dying. She is killing me. _

_Everything goes black. But the pain is red. _

The taste of blood fills my mouth. I've bit down on my tongue as I screamed. "She tried to kill me," I yell, but my voice breaks.

"Yes," Snow replies. "And where is she now? She is with the other rebels. They left you, Peeta. They didn't care about you. They wanted you dead."

My head is pounding. Sharp jabs to my temple. _Haymitch's gruff voice. "It was you or her. I chose her." He chose her. Not me. He wanted me to die. And she tried to kill me. They all want me dead. They want to kill me._

"I want THEM dead!" I screech, rattling against my chains. The pain clears my vision, and I see Snow's face alights as the blood sprays from my vehement words.

"Don't you love her, Peeta?" Snow asks, voice soft, malicious. I feel the room pause, everyone waiting for an answer.

"No!" I yell, my entire body shaking, convulsing in earnestness. "No _no no no _NO! I _hate _her! She is _killing _me!"

"She will kill you still!" he shouts back, face inches from my own.

"She will kill me," I repeat, almost as a question.

"Yes." He pauses. "Do you want to die, Peeta?"

_So much pain. Everything on fire. What's left? _"No."

"Then you must kill her."

There's a flick in the back of my mind. A memory of a soft hand in mine. A feeling, I can't quite place it, as her face moves in close-

_Terror. That's what I feel. Her eyes ablaze in hatred-She hates me. I feel it coursing through my veins. They are on FIRE. She will kill me. I don't want to die. I don't. She's close, so close. I push her away, falling through her into nothingness and my screams are lost in darkness. _

I wake up with heavy breathing, my face pressed against the cold cement of the cell floor.

Without realizing it, I repeat one word. A vendetta. A purpose, cold and unyielding.

"Katniss. Katniss. _Katniss."_


End file.
